


Bed

by Evilchuckles



Series: Miss Gingerpaws Series [6]
Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Humour, M/M, Romance, Smut, bad language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilchuckles/pseuds/Evilchuckles





	Bed

“Gevanni....” Near’s moans were breathy and low and utterly desperate.

He needed it.

He needed it _now_.

And only Gevanni could give it to him.

“Alright, alright,” Gevanni sighed, taking a fresh box of tissues over to the bed on which Near lay looking like an unhappy carebear, in the throes of a stinking cold, surrounded by used tissues, rumpled duvet (repeatedly kicked off when he was too hot and then immediately pulled back up when he was too cold), packets of throat sweets and cups of half drunk ginger tea.

Near grabbed a tissue from the new box and stuck it defiantly up his nose. 

“Gevanni, this is unacceptable,” he glared, although his glare had little of its usual strength, not least because he had a tissue sticking out of his left nostril. “Make it stop.”

Gevanni prayed to the God of Men With Trying Boyfriends and considered explaining, once again, that a virus was simply something to be put up with until it went away. Near was rarely ill (which, Gevanni was realising, was just as well) and when he was he handled it badly. 

Really badly.

He demanded 24 hour slave service for the duration. Gevanni had spent the last two days fetching and carrying and buying tissues and making tea and dodging pillows thrown in frustrated boredom. Because it wasn’t so much the being ill that was the problem but the forced inactivity. Near didn’t _do_ inactivity. When he wasn’t working he was reading. When he wasn’t reading he was sleeping or watching DVDs. When he wasn’t doing that he was having sex with Gevanni. Or learning a language (he had learnt four since they started going out and had recently started on Urdu). Or building a scale model of the Large Hadron Collider. Or talking about having sex with Gevanni. Or sorting lego.

In short, two days of being too ill to concentrate enough even for light reading, brain turned to mush by a temperature of 101, had turned Near into a monster and, frankly, if the fever didn’t kill him soon then Gevanni bloody well would. It had been two days of complaining, and whining, and demanding soup, and saying the soup was too hot, and demanding chocolate and then complaining that it was the wrong type of chocolate and martyred little sighs whenever he coughed like the world was ending and, _really_ how could Gevanni have allowed this to happen?

But then, just when Gevanni was contemplating murder weapons, Near sighed and curled up against him in a heap of white duvet and white hair and white skin, all soft and smelling of menthol and eucalyptus, and Gevanni...well...melted.

It was shaming, that was what it was.

To be sat here on the bed, a grown man, looking down with what he knew must be embarrassing mooniness, at his sleepy, snotty lover and thinking how cute he looked even when he was looking completely disgusting.

‘God,’ Gevanni thought, not for the first time, ‘I must have it bad.’

 

The next day Near woke up and announced, abruptly, that he was better and took himself off for a long shower. Gevanni stripped and remade the bed, finding about a thousand tissues in the process, and prayed that Near was correct and not just so bored with being sick that he had decided to be better and was trying to order his body to agree. Near didn’t believe in recuperation. He saw things in black and white. You were either ill or not ill. In the past this had led to unfortunate incidents including a memorable vomiting at the cinema.

Gevanni hadn’t quite fancied popcorn since.

At least they had no pressing cases currently on so could afford to take it easy for the day.

Not that Near’s idea of taking it easy (book, lego, learn a language, laugh at some flawed formulae claiming to prove string theory, book, eat lunch, watch a movie, pick apart the movie, have sex, book, shower, bed, more sex, sleep) was Gevanni’s idea of taking it easy. 

Although he didn’t have a problem with the sex obviously.

Near padded back into the bedroom, damp and towel clad, and set about the largely impossible task of combing his hair. Gevanni wandered into the living room to check the emails which had been backing up for the last two days, all the while vowing that next time Near was ill he was going to head straight for the outer Hebrides. 

So, after an hour’s blessed quiet to himself the call from the bedroom made Gevanni groan and bang his head on the table.

“Gevanni...come here!”

The peevish tone. The remaining huskiness. Gevanni knew it had been too good to be true. Near was still sick. It wasn’t over! Gevanni was going to have to go back in there and submit to yet more childish behaviour.

Grimly, Gevanni stood up and stomped into the bedroom.

And stopped short. 

Because Near was naked and smiling at him, in a slightly abashed way.

And holding out a hand.

Gevanni fell into Near’s arms like a heroine in one of those small books from the old lady section in the library. Near was all warm and friendly feeling. 

Very friendly actually.

“What bought this on?” Gevanni laughed, breathlessly as he found himself pushed onto his back and efficiently undressed.

“During my shower I reviewed our recent interactions and decided that they have been significantly imbalanced in my favour. I think it’s important that I correct this drift so as not to cause any long term instability.”

Gevanni frowned up at the ceiling while his socks were being removed before saying, “Oh...You mean, ‘I’ve been an arse, Gevanni, and now I’m making it up to you?’”

Near gave him a perplexed look. “Isn’t that exactly what I said?”

“Er...”

Sometimes Gevanni thought that the one language Near had never really learned was English.

Once Gevanni was naked, Near moved to lie beside him and kissed him. Gevanni sank into it and for a long time stopped thinking.

When they came up for air Gevanni sighed, “I love you.”

Near rolled his eyes a little. Gevanni grinned. Near had made it clear that he regarded the fact that they loved each other as a fact of life, like gravity or serial killers or Lego. As such he never really understood Gevanni’s need to comment on it all the time. ‘After all,’ he had explained once, patiently, as though to an idiot child, ‘it’s not like I say, oh look, there’s gravity in here’ every time I enter a room.’

Gevanni was unrepentant. He liked saying it.

But then all reflection flew out of Gevanni’s mind because Near had settled on his knees further down the bed and was _licking_ him and _sucking_ him and...and...

“Oh God...” Gevanni arched off the bed.

He could have sworn then, just before the world went golden, that he felt Near smirk.

 

The next day Gevanni came down with the same virus and Near gave him a ham sandwich and a can of coke and proceeded to sod off to watch TV.


End file.
